Page 34 of Highlander’s Evil Twin

Hiram looked at Thomas in disgust. He lay trembling and quietly crying on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, his shirt ripped open and frayed where the horsewhip had done its damage. His pale, insipid-looking skin puckered around the welts. They stood like angry peaks and his satisfaction grew. He knew the deeper cuts would scar and that pleased him. Thomas was whimpering now and pleading, but Hiram didn’t want to stop; anger boiled at his core and fueled his desire to create more pain. How dare he treat Heather that way? The man was spineless, Hiram could see that. He was a poor imitation of a man. In his mid-twenties, he had developed a paunch, the telltale signs of poor posture and too much good living. His eyes, red-rimmed but a cloudless grey, were non-descript. That just about sums him up, Hiram thought as he paced up and down. Aye, this was the punishment for him. Death was too good.

He wondered if Heather might be shocked by how Thomas looked these days, pre-beating. She’d told him that Thomas had been charming and that she had been flattered at first. Now, with the receding hairline and the long angular face, Hiram could see nothing attractive about this man. He was the man that would have to pay for the pleasure of a woman as no one would voluntarily give themselves to him. With the stable hands standing by, Hiram turned his back on the weeping Thomas and took his anger out on the other two men who were cowering in the corner. They had tried to escape once and had been prepared to leave Thomas to the beating, but the stable hands had thrown them back into the corner where they now skulked.

Summoning up his revulsion for the two men, Hiram grabbed Ronnie by the collar and pinned him up against the wall. Any fight that had been left within him dissipated in an instant when he recognized Hiram’s blood lust. He’d also seen the extent of the beating that Thomas had experienced. Hiram was more than capable of repeating the same to this arrogant man. With a grunt, he threw him across the floor, watching him roll several times before trying to get to his feet, his arms extended.

“Please, I’m sorry, I was so young, it was a mistake.”

“Aye, and so was she, yet you tried to defile her!”

He brought the horsewhip down with terrifying accuracy and it cracked across the back of Ronnie’s shirt, tearing it open, blood oozing out of the vicious welt. Hiram kicked him in the stomach, watching as he doubled over, groaning. Hiram reached forward, dragging him back to his feet, bending his own legs while aiming with malice at his jaw. The blow forced him back and he staggered, hitting the wall behind him, his bones crunching, and he slid to the ground. It was easy to see that he was no fighter.

No, he thought in disgust, he would just prey on helpless young girls instead.

Since Heather had confided in him, Hiram had sent some of his men to go and find out more about the culprits. They’d been discreet in their investigation and Hiram knew their movements, what they had done over the years and their favorite places to visit. It had been all too easy to kidnap them and bring them here under cover of darkness. It had not been a surprise to know that they did not work on the land. They had a modest income provided through their families but were not wealthy. But they had attitude and, he could tell, little respect for women. Even without Heather’s admission, he would have despised these men on sight anyway. They were everything he deplored about men: pasty, weak, and ineffectual. These were the type of men who preyed on women, uncaring as to the consequences.

Anger boiled up within him again. He picked up the horsewhip, lashing out blow after blow on Ronnie’s chest, leaving only a bloodied mass. Far from his anger reducing, he turned his attentions to the last man who was already crying and begging in the corner. Hiram dragged him out, throwing him on top of a wooden bench, arms down either side. Struggling, the stable hands rushed to hold him down while Hiram whipped him. He could feel every muscle in his body as taut and powerful. Energy coursed through his veins. He wanted to...needed to punish this man, to avenge for the torment that they collectively had inflicted upon her. He could only imagine how sick she had felt and how frightened. No wonder she had not wanted to become involved with any man since. There was no doubt in his mind that the actions of these men had triggered that initial reluctance for love. He brought the whip down hard on the exposed skin, welt upon welt materialized, a crisscross pattern that would never heal properly. Justice comes in all forms, he thought grimly. Their wounds would remind them of their actions forever. Finally, he let the whip drop and threw it into the middle of the stable.

He suddenly felt exhausted, cleansed. He had avenged.

“Throw them in the cells overnight,” he ordered the stable hands. “And we’ll release them tomorrow, once they’ve had time to consider their actions and the punishment.”

Glancing around, he felt a slight pang of conscience, wondering if the men would survive the night, but shrugged the feeling away. If they didn’t, it was no more than they deserved, and he knew he would not lose any sleep. His shirt was covered with blood; the force of his blows had sent blood splatters across his face, his clothes, and all over the stables. He wiped his hand with an old cloth and began to head back to the castle. He needed to wash away the evidence of his anger. As he strode away, down the old cobbled path towards the castle entrance, his sister Maggie and Heather were walking arm in arm across the green and both looked at him in surprise, taking in his disheveled and bloodied appearance.

“Hiram?” Heather’s voice penetrated his thoughts.

He looked at her with dismay, guilt in his eyes. He had not wanted her to witness this. The guilt flickered and then dissipated.

In that second she knew. “What have you done?”

He saw no point in denying it. “Justice.”

Heather gasped. “Hiram, are they dead?”

He shook his head. “Sadly not. But let’s just say that if one of them died tonight, I won’t let it stop me from sleeping soundly.”

Maggie moved towards her brother. “Don’t be like Connor. Don’t lose yourself in your anger.”

“You don’t need to worry, Maggie.” His features softened. “They had this coming. But, I didn’t intend to kill them, I want them to remember what happened today and why. That is a far more suitable punishment.”

Hiram turned and walked away, his stride lengthening. He couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed inflicting pain on them. But now he wanted to rid himself of his soiled clothes and longed to relax in hot water so that he could be cleansed for his deeds. He hoped this would lay Heather’s ghosts to rest; knowing that they had been punished should enable her to move on from it…finally. He knew there would be no repercussions from his actions. They were too weak, too pathetic to do more than crawl away the moment the opportunity arose. They wouldn’t dare go to the authorities and knew this was a fitting justice for their actions. He ordered a bath to be drawn, barking at one of the servants as he walked past. He registered the look of shock on her face as he strode past, but she scuttled away to do his bidding. She never uttered a word about his bloodied state but he knew that they would be talking about what had happened that night.

He still had to figure out how to deal with his mother. Although she rarely came out of her room and joined in with the rest of them, he wondered whether the birth of a first grandchild would encourage her mood. She preyed on his mind. He saw her going steadily insane in those quarters. The signs were there. He would not be surprised if losing his father and then Connor would have tipped her over the edge.

In the old days, he would have given anything to have made her love him but that had never really happened. He’d dreamt about it recently, recalling how many times he had tried to impress and please his mother, but it was never good enough. He had felt the pain all over again. The rejection, the cruel jibes, the withering looks. Then, in his dream, Heather had given birth to a little boy, and his mother had claimed it was Connor reincarnated. Hiram had cried out in horror. That couldn’t be happening. Connor was gone. He could never hurt them again. But then he looked down at his son and recognized pure evil flashing in the baby’s eyes. Another dream that tormented him was that his mother stole the baby and disappeared. She would raise him to be another Connor.

When Hiram had woken, drenched in a cold sweat, he knew that he would never leave her alone with his child.

As the days passed into weeks, it became obvious that Heather was with child. She looked more adorable than ever although he could see the tiredness as she struggled to lie comfortably.

“Are you sure you are not carrying twins?” he’d mocked.

She was beautiful but her abdomen was expanding quickly, and he was in awe that their child lay within. He couldn’t believe her delicate skin could stretch so much. The baby was kicking now. He’d watched the skin raise and the movement across the front of her stomach. At one time, he was convinced he’d seen a small hand pressing against the skin, wanting to be acknowledged. Hiram had placed his hand against that place, wondering if his child could feel the warmth from his own hand as well as his presence. Tears stung his eyes. He’d never felt so much for such a tiny unborn being.

He reached up and stroked her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands. She loved his touch and moved closer. “You are so beautiful. It won’t be long now before we are three.”

“This has to be the fastest pregnancy ever. Each morning I feel like I have grown even bigger.” Heather laughed. “It is the most incredible feeling, knowing that I carry our precious child within me. I feel I am doing something important.” She stroked her abdomen with affection. “Even though my body will never be the same again.” She glared at Hiram in mock frustration.

“You have never looked so beautiful. “